


come back again, again

by troubleseeker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Dean is a stubborn idiot, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Incest, M/M, Sequel, Sex Curse, Sex Pollen, Träume, and also traumatized, as a treat, non con, readers can have a little 'Wincest Under Duress'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleseeker/pseuds/troubleseeker
Summary: Dean gets hit with a sex curse and won't let himself touch himself.Inspiration struck hard and fast after reading omgbubblesomg's ficCome back again.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 209





	come back again, again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omgbubblesomg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/gifts).



> Again, inspired by Omgbubblesomg's fic [Come back again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23692123/chapters/56882977) who you should really go read if you haven't read it yet!!

It takes Dean weeks to start eating solid foods again, and two months to stop drinking. He only stops because it isn’t helping. He’s even less useful during hunts if he’s drunk, and the memories refuse to be pushed down deeper than they already are and it’s far from deep enough.

It’s Sam who nurses him through most of it; guilt and anger and fear written clearly across his face. Dean can’t stand to look at him.

He violated his brother. His brother violated him.

Boiling hot showers don’t wash away his shame.No soap strong enough to scrub off the sensation of dirty, and bad, and wrong, wrong, wrong. And Sam tries, the saint that he is, to help. But heavy silences, used to be favorite foods, and stolen ointments left in his duffel don’t fix that; don’t fix  _ him _ , or them, or any of the fucked up shit he’s done. 

He loses count of how often he cries himself to sleep in his own stupid room, cause no way is he letting Sam get more traumatized by insisting on sharing one. 

Three months since the curse, he manages to have a full conversation with Sam again. It’s about a case and it’s all a bit hazy but fuck it he needs to get back into the work. Maybe if he shoots some bad guys he can try to begin and make up for what he did to Sam. And yeah he knows he had to but that doesn’t make it any better. 

_ He _ put his hands around Sam’s- no, not thinking about it, not thinking about tasting- nothing- not thinking about getting split open and torn to shreds- not thinking about taking control and- no no no no…

So obviously it ends up being witches. 

Sam finds him hiding in a corner, still covered in flower petals and magic dust and crying his eyes out because he’s going to  _ die _ .

“Stay away!” he screams at Sam’s befuddled face. “No! No Sam! Fucking go away!”

Only when he points his gun, wavering and potentially still loaded, does Sam actually back off. 

“What happened?”

“Fucking WITCHES!” Dean bellows. Tearing at his hair as he keeps his gun trained in Sam’s general direction and tries to ignore the chub between his legs already calling for his attention “Fuck! Fuck.”

“Dean. Please.” Sam begs, inching closer. “What happened?”

Dean doesn’t answer, dropping his gun arm to paw at his crotch. He hasn’t tried touching himself for more than pissing in months- it makes him think about touching- nope. That he can’t help it now… Fuck. His hand makes contact, curls around the front of his jeans and his brain slips sideways, his heart rate spikes and he can feel himself grow flaccid. Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh fuck.

“Dean?” Sam tries again, even more worried now that Dean’s lost any and all color. “Talk to me, c’mon.”

“No, Sam.” Dean grinds out, hands tearing at his head as he feels his lunch try to work its way back out again. He’s going to die. He’s going to go mad with the need to come and then he’s going to die. Because they’re in the middle of nowhere; fucking hours away from any fuckable person, and Sam is going to get inside of baby and drive away. “Get out.” Gun suddenly pointing in the right direction again, he gestures at the door. “Start walking, Sam. Out.”

Sam backs out slowly. Begging Dean to talk to him the whole way out of the house they tracked the witch to. 

“Get in the car.” He orders, throwing the keys at Sam’s chest. “Get in the car, and drive.”

“No.” 

Dean feels tears clogging his throat even through the lust that’s making him sick. “Fuck, Sammy. Please.”

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on.” Sam demands, pigheaded as always.

“Cause I’m not doing this.” Dean steels his nerves, cause it’s true. He’d rather have Sam drive off and leave him to slowly go fucking batshit crazy rutting against shit till his heart gave out, than let anything else happen. “I’m not going through that again. Not with you. Not again. I can’t do it.”

He can’t even look at Sam, cause he knows he’ll be making some fucking puppy dog face.

“We can fix this, Dean.”

“I’m not taking the cure, Sam. I’m  _ not _ .”

“We don’t even know if it’s as bad as the last one.” Which means Sam’s caught on, of course he has. 

Dean only realizes he’s lowered his gun arm when Sam’s massive hands clamp down on his wrist and steal his weapon. Defenseless now, he crumples, whimpering when Sam follows him to the ground.

“Please don’t do this.” He begs, flinching away when Sam palms his forehead. “Please, man. I can’t.”

“Try jerking off first,” Sam insists. “Please.”

Dean’s brain shies away from  _ Sam _ telling him to do anything sexual - even solo - and he turns away to finally throw up. He crawls away from his puddle, grinds his forehead against baby’s door. 

“I won’t watch,” Sam promises, staying where he was and thank fuck for that. “But I’m not leaving till you try.” 

It makes sense, but Dean’s convinced it won’t work. And the more he tries the hornier he’ll get and he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want this. Doesn’t- “Ok- ok.” 

He crawls around baby till he’s leaning against the front bumper. He can’t make himself go any further or he’s going to get to his feet and start running. Maybe he should.

Instead, he stares at the bulge in his jeans, knowing he’s going to have to touch himself. He’s going to have to open up his jeans and- and- his brain misfire, blanking out.

He comes to in Sam’s arms, curled into his lap like a fucking  _ girl _ , and he can’t remember how he got there. Holding back a scream, he scrambles out of Sam’s hold and up, stumbling back to the ground when he can’t actually find his footing. 

The low hum of lust has bloomed, radiating out from his crotch with an urgency Dean doesn’t want to deal with. 

“No!” He shouts when Sam’s footsteps crunch through the gravel behind him. “No!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Sam tries. “You passed out, man. I can’t not help.”

Which was  _ exactly  _ the problem. 

“I can’t do it Sam. I can’t.”

“You can’t-” Sam pauses, looking for words. “Can’t touch yourself?”

Dean prays for the gravel beneath him to open up and just be swallowed whole, but when has praying ever helped anything? So he nods instead, face down in the dirt till his hips start looking for friction and he rolls over. 

“Same as- you know, when I-”

“No.” Dean interrupts him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but Sam loves talking so he might as well get it over with. “I can’t- can’t even open my jeans, man.”

“Is it the curse?”

Oh, Dean wishes he could blame the fucking curse. But it’s not. It’s his stupid fucking brain, but it doesn’t matter in any way cause it’s not happening. He can’t touch himself, and he knows it would never be enough anyway. He’d seen that desperation in Sam’s face, felt his heart near give up. 

“No.” He grinds out, “No, it’s not the curse.”

“Then why?”Sam pushes, inching closer again and Dean can feel his dick react. It wants Sam. Which means  _ he _ wants Sam, which means he’s a terrible human being and an even worse brother. “You’ve been jerking off your whole life, Dean. Just do it!”

“I. Can’t.” Dean barks, kicking out when Sam gets too close. Any second now, his brain is going to flip a switch and he’ll be  _ raping _ Sammy. “Drive, Sam. Just drive away and don’t look back.”

“You’re not turning into a werewolf, Dean. And I’m not leaving you here to die. Just jerk off.”

Dean stares up at Sam, who is clearly determined to see this through because when has a Winchester ever not had a self sacrificing streak? Which means Dean is going to have to be the one to bite the bullet here.

He glances past Sam, sees baby glisten in the sun. If he can get to the keys, if he can drive for long enough- he’ll be far enough that Sam can’t reach him in time to get- well, molested, by the one person who’s meant to take care of him. And Sam’s a good runner, he’ll find him eventually and get the car back, and he’ll get over it. He’ll have to.

Dean gets as far as he car when sam grabs him.

“You self sacrificing fucking idiot.” gets hissed into Dean’s ear, and Dean’s spits back; tries to wrestle free but Sam’s too strong and he’s too horny. “You think I’m going to let you leave? Hmm? While you’re cursed?”

The click of handcuffs make Dean feel slightly more secure. He can’t go anywhere, but once his dick starts doing the thinking he’ll be harmless. 

“In.” Sam tells him, gentle now that Dean’s stopped trying to run, and drags him into the back seat Dean hasn’t even looked at since his last visit.

There’s a bit of wrestling, not much space to work with, and then Dean’s sitting between Sam’s legs. 

“You can’t do it, but I can.”

“I don’t want you to!” Dean tries, pleading with Sam now.

“You saved my life, Dean. I’m just returning the favor.” 

Dean’s head flops back, landing on Sam’s shoulder and he can’t help but try to take comfort even though he does not in any way deserve it. 

“Ok.” Sam pauses. “I’m going to unzip your jeans, ok?”

“No- but ok.” Dean manages, staring at baby’s ceiling with unblinking eyes. Sam’s hands are gentle. Too gentle. And it’s all in vain because his dick feels like it’s going to fall off any second now to just go find a partner on its own. 

“I’m going to touch you.” Sam warns him again, and he waits till Dean nods, defeated, before actually dipping down inside of Dean’s boxers. His fingers are blessedly cool, and Dean can’t hold back the stupid noise that crawls out of his throat. 

Sam’s barely touched him and he’s already gone, hips chasing every hint of friction and release.

“I’m- I’m going to pull you out. Does it hurt?”

“No-” Dean chokes. It doesn’t hurt. It feels  _ amazing _ , which is worse. His dick is all he can feel, all he can think about, all he *wants* to be touched.

“All right. Tell me if it does.” And then Sam starts stroking. 

Dean’s got no idea how long he’s waited, how much time passed since the witch threw a bag into his face and then died from a bullet to the head cause Dean doesn’t need eyesight to fire, but  _ Jesus fuckign Christ _ he can’t believe he managed to hold out that long. 

He screams, arching his back so he can fuck up into Sam’s blessed fist and rut till all the magical energy buzzing inside of him swells and bursts free. And just like that, it’s done.

He comes messily in Sam’s hands while his own are carefully trapped between their bodies, and then he’s breathing ragged breaths into Sam’s neck. It’s over. Just a simple, run of the mill have an orgasm curse. 

“We-” he rasps. “Are never talking about this, ever again.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to come yell at me on [tumblr](http://ryugarika.tumblr.com/) ... feel free to, I can take it.
> 
> Comments feed me!


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